On the first day of the festival, Pixal began by hiding her spell tome away from any prying eye. She nestled it in a little hollow in the ground and covered it with a bed of fallen leaves, making sure every bit of the book's silver binding was well hidden. With it no longer visible, she memorized the location and set about exploring the festival.
The first place Pixal went was to the many aisles of vendors all throughout the festival grounds. With her bit of saved money in her hand, she looked at all the goods, made of a multitude of materials and colors, each piece unique. There were all sorts of beautiful things; glass figurines, hairpieces, gowns, shoes, all manner of accessories, and books were only a few. She frequently stopped, examining things carefully, considering what to buy, lingering on the many tomes. Several times, she came close to purchasing, but never quite did.
Next, the maiden entered an area of many edible goods from all sorts of places, many imported. There, all manners of cakes, candies, meats, cheeses, and fruits were displayed with beautiful variety, and the peddlers eagerly called out their prices. Pixal did not intend to stop, but she eventually gave into temptation and bought some candied peaches, which she nibbled upon as she walked and saw the festival.
When she finished her treat, Pixal looked around again for something to partake in, hoping to make her day yet more worthwhile. While the shopping was nice, she wished to partake in some of the games and activities that her stepsisters had fluttered about, knowing that her budget was even more diminished. One such activity was dancing, said to be happening in the main square, where a pavilion was set up. If she could find it, maybe she could join in– she had read all about dancing in her books, although she had never had a partner to practice with besides an old broom and some mice– except her mother, of course.
In her search, Pixal wandered about, hearing faint snatches of music. She lost them frequently, but the strands of melody slowly grew louder and louder, until she eventually came to a large clearing.
Just as she had thought, the main square was the site of the pavilion. There, the ground was flattened, with large stone pavers making up a floor. At that time, no fewer than thirty different people danced, their colorful clothing making a moving painting before her eyes.
In the dance, men and women wove in and out from each other in complex patterns as they spun and stepped in time. They laughed and talked as music floated above them, its lovely strands and rhythm a baseline for their motion. As the tune ended, the dancers bowed and curtsied, laughing and smiling again, and many seeking out new partners.
Pixal smiled. This one they performed seemed simple enough; where was the harm in joining? Even if her stepmother and sisters came to the pavilion, they would not pay attention to the people there, much less a nondescript dancer.
With determination in mind, the maiden affixed her hairclip more securely went to the dance floor. A new dance was prepared and the musicians changed their sheet music, which was when she joined the remaining dancers, finding a partner in a dark-haired man who bowed and kissed her hand. Without much ado, the music started up again, and the dance began with a flourish.
Prince Zane sighed, running his fingers through his hair in an attempt to abate his stress, but only finding it more arduous.
The first day of the festival had begun without a hitch. By some miracle, every moving part acted harmoniously with the rest. The vendors opened their shops bright and early, the preparations for the games were mostly perfect, and not a single instance of crime had been reported. All of the Central Commonwealth seemed to have come to attend.
Everything was perfect, and it could not possibly be more frustrating.
The perfection of the preparations was not the frustrating part, of course. Zane knew that well, even as he knew himself. The part that irked him was the festival's purpose. Just as his father had known and as his advisor Cryptor had predicted, a multitude of ladies had come, in their great variety. Whether dressed in servants' garb or the finery of nobility, hundreds had come, and they seemed to follow him wherever he went, each seemingly intent on catching his eye.
The search for a fitting candidate was no more fulfilled than when he had started, and Zane almost despaired. He had done his best to get to know those who seemed the most approachable, but had consistently been disappointed, not having found any who would be well-suited to the role of Queen. In his dismay, he had retired to the dance pavilion, where he watched the dancers from a window in a hidden place.
For a good amount of time, Zane watched the dances unenthusiastically, regaining his strength. The dancers varied in skill, in age, and in enthusiasm, but every one seemed to love it, except for perhaps the very youngest children. He saw men and women, young and old, all celebrating together, and it made him smile. The colorful mass shifted with every passing moment, skirts and coattails swaying wide, the woven steps near-mesmerizing to the eye. As he watched, one person caught his eye, and he tracked her movements.
A woman with silvery blonde hair dressed in purple danced in the middle of the pavilion, joyful as she spun and twirled. Her partner, a dark-haired man, seemed to share her enjoyment, and together they garnered the attention of the entire pavilion, central to the dance. The woman seemed completely oblivious to the attention, content to simply dance to her heart's content, while her partner seemed stiff in regard to the attention.
Zane watched in interest as the dance ended, fixated upon the woman. Her partner bowed, she curtsied, and then they parted without much ado, seemingly not friends. The man chose a new partner, and the woman in purple walked to the edge of the pavilion, clearly ready to rest for a moment. Zane's eyes followed her to the edge as she sat on a bench and smoothed her skirts.
Suddenly, a hand descended on the prince's shoulder. He cried out in surprise and whipped around to see Cryptor standing behind him.
"Prince Zane, there you are!" his advisor said, ignoring his obvious startle. "I have been looking for you for an hour."
Zane shook his head, sighing deeply. "Cryptor, must you startle me so?"
"It was not my intention, your Highness. My apologies."
"It is fine." Zane waved his hand. "Why were you looking for me?"
"No one has seen hide nor hair of you for quite a while. Seeing as this is your festival, I was sent to find you, so that you might resume your work." Cryptor glanced up at the pavilion and then back down at Zane. "Is watching the dancers your way of meeting women?"
Zane shook his head, embarrassed. "No, I simply needed some time to myself. I have had to meet more people today than in the past several weeks– it is exhausting."
"Surely it is, yet you must not be lax."
Zane nodded, his eyes wandering back to the woman he had seen earlier, who watched the dancing from her perch with a smile, sunlight reflecting off her hairpiece. "I know."
Cryptor followed his line of sight and spotted the woman. He considered how preoccupied Zane looked, and then smiled. "Prince Zane, if you would like to meet a specific woman, I do not think anyone would have cause for complaint."
Zane looked back at him, eyes wide. "Am I that easily read?"
"By me, certainly." Cryptor grinned. "If you would like, you could ask her to dance with you. I am certain she would not refuse."
"I cannot do that. It would be showing favoritism."
"Are you not supposed to find one woman to marry? Favoritism is the very idea of this event." Cryptor put his hand on Zane's shoulder again. "Ask her to dance, your Highness, and talk to her during it. The worst that could happen is you having a poor conversation."
Zane sighed and stood, looking back at the woman for one last time. "...Very well. However, if this ends up being a poor idea, I shall blame you."
"By all means, your Highness." Cryptor opened the door for him. "I wish you a good dance with her ladyship."
Zane rolled his eyes and walked out. "Thank you, Cryptor."
Pixal smiled, sitting back on her bench as she watched the dancers swirl. She had taken a few moments to rest and catch her breath after that first spell, having underestimated just how fierce the movements were. Her dance partner had been good, but she tired after a few dances, so he had found a new partner. Now she was feeling ready to rejoin them, but she still had to wait for the next dance, unable to cut into the complex tapestry of movement.
Content to wait, Pixal watched the whirling dancers until a flash of white caught the corner of her vision. She turned and saw a man approaching her. He was tall and fair, with the lightest platinum blond hair. By his manner, she could tell he was a noble of some type, and as he neared her, she saw why. The man wore a deceptively simple suit, clearly made of fine fabric, with subtle snowflake embroidery on the lapels and cuffs. Silver cufflinks betrayed his wealth, and she recognized him quickly; he could be no other than Prince Zane, the talk of the kingdom and of her stepsisters.
When the prince neared her, Pixal stood quickly, brushing off her skirt. She smiled at him, and when he came to a stop, she curtsied.
"Prince Zane," she greeted.
"My lady." He bowed to her. "I must say that I noticed your partner has left you."
Pixal blushed faintly. If the prince had noticed her singleness, then perhaps he saw her as a suitor? She could not have him thinking that. "He was simply my dance partner. I came to the festival alone, just as I intend to leave."
"I see." The prince nodded. Internally, he made a note of how she seemed content in her independence, and that trait's rarity. "I know of few ladies who would not come with an escort of some kind."
"I am not exactly a common lady." Pixal fingered the material of her skirt, running the pad of her thumb over the fabric's grain.
"Then who might you be?" the prince asked, head turned slightly as he examined her.
For a moment, she was lost for answers. "I am…" She trailed off, not knowing what to tell him.
"Pardon me, I did not hear you," the prince interjected, bowing his head slightly in apology.
She cleared her throat quietly. "I am Pansy, your Highness." She curtsied again. "It is an honor to meet you."
"Likewise, my lady Pansy." Zane took her hand and kissed it, the picture of poise, and Pixal's cheeks flared. "I must compliment your dancing– it was magnificent."
"Thank you very much." She glanced back at the dance pavilion, where the current dance was ending. "I quite enjoy it, though I so rarely have an opportunity." Though it was not her original intention, she began to feel as if she were carrying herself like a noble lady, and the idea thrilled her.
"I do as well," Prince Zane replied, "but I have not had the opportunity to partake yet in the festival." He followed her gaze. "Perhaps you would be willing to indulge me?"
Pixal thought about his request for a moment. On one hand, dancing with the prince would attract attention, which could lead to her family seeing her. On the other, one did not have the opportunity to dance with royalty often, if ever. A handsome prince as a dance partner would make a fine memory, even long after the festival had passed.
However, even if it were not such a tempting offer, saying no was certainly not an option when it came to royalty. Though the prince seemed quite courteous, it was impossible to know what would happen if she refused him. The answer was easy to see.
Pixal turned back to look at Zane and extended a hand. "I would be honored, your Highness."
"I am happy to hear you say that, Lady Pansy." He took her hand, gentle and yet supportive, and together they made their way onto the pavilion.
When they reached the center of the floor, Pixal put her free hand on his shoulder, while Zane put his on her waist, taking up the beginning stance of the dance. They drew a few eyes, but most of the people around them were still trying to find new partners, so neither thought anything of it.
As the musicians began, the dancers began their pattern. It began with all the pairs of dancers forming a large circle, turning slowly. The music began to swell, directing each pair to twirl, the women spinning in and out every once in a while as their partners directed them, skirts brushing people's ankles.
As they danced, Zane smiled, doing his best to ignore the attention they garnered in favor of paying intention to Pansy. "Have you enjoyed the festival so far?"
Pixal nodded, smiling back at him as they stepped and turned. "I have. I must thank you for organizing it– it is my understanding that it was your idea personally, was it not?"
"That, and my father's."
"His Majesty is very generous."
"I will pass along the compliment." Zane smiled and spun her out again. She reached out, as if trying to touch the sun, and then drew back, when he laid his hand on her waist again. "I am glad that it is to your liking."
"Very much so." The music spiked, and the two of them twirled together, passing between several other couples in their colorful finery. "I have never seen so many books in one place!"
He laughed. "I must say, I have not heard anyone mention the booksellers so far today."
"They are by far my favorite part, except for the dancing." She ducked her head slightly to hide a faint blush. "Perhaps it is unladylike of me to say so, but I often would prefer reading to an event such as this." Despite how dishonest it felt, she did not mention the fact that she would not be allowed to attend an event like the festival.
Zane smiled at her words. "I do not think so. A love of learning is the most distinguished thing a person may have." His face felt heated. "It is one of my favorite pasttimes."
"As it is to me. My favorites are the histories and sciences."
"I prefer mathematics and philosophy. Have you by any chance read the works of Plato?"
"Of course. The ancient philosophers were wise men and women."
"Who is your favorite?"
As the dance progressed, Pixal found herself smiling more and more. Zane also found himself enjoying talking with her, forgetting the circumstances. Likewise, she ignored her disobedience, and focused only on the pleasure of their movement. One dance led to another, and yet a third from there, the pair rarely pausing for more than a few moments.
In the heat of the moment, the two spun and twirled together, cheerfully moving to the beat of the music. Every step fell in time, with rarely a hair out of place, which only gave way to laughter among the great convocation of dancers. However, as the two tired of dancing, they were loath to leave each other's company, and retired to the edge of the pavilion to speak more as they rested. Such was the way that they ended up walking through the festival together all throughout the day, despite them tiring of dancing.
As the sun got ever closer to the horizon, the pair found themselves tired of wandering. They eventually went to a shaded garden, where many flowers grew, and settled themselves in the protection of a great alder tree. There they talked for hours, with a couple of books strewn about them– recommendations from both to the other.
That day, both Zane and Pixal's chests hurt from laughter, and their faces from smiling. Indeed, neither remembered such a pleasant day anywhere in recent memory, whether because of the conversation or the recreation. They would have happily stayed there forever, if not for the fact that a bell tolled in the distance, interjecting itself into their activity.
At the sound of the bell, Zane looked across the field, where a large games arena stood. A bell tower stood near it, the great bronze instrument ringing with the force of a knight's strength. After a moment of pause, he turned his face to Pixal, regret immediately evident on his face.
"My lady Pansy, I regret to tell you this, but I believe it is now time for me to take my leave."
She nodded. "I take it you are participating in the jousting tournament?"
"I am, though not for a time yet– just enough for me to return to my duties."
"The bell signals the call for the first jousters. Are you to joust the champions? I have heard about your skill."
"You are most correct, as you have been all of this fine day." Hesitantly, Zane took her hand and kissed it, lingering a few moments more than a common courtesy might require. "If I might be so bold, I would ask you for a favour, for luck in the arena."
Heat creeped up Pixal's neck at the question, and she smiled in embarrassment. "I'm sorry, my prince. I cannot favour you in the tournament."
Zane's face fell for a few moments, the gears in his mind turning rapidly as he attempted to comprehend her statement. "Are you promised to another man, my lady, or have you favoured another?"
"No, it is not like that." She ducked her head and looked up at him through her bangs, unable to meet his eyes in any other manner. "I am afraid I have no fitting favour to give you."
"You do not?" His heart swelled traitorously.
"That is correct." She managed to look at him directly, without the shield of her hair protecting her from the product of her words. "However, my prince, I wish you luck. It is invisible, but it will go with you."
Zane smiled. "Very well." He made as if to take an invisible object, and he pressed his hand to his chest above where his heart lay. "I will wear it with pride, my lady Pansy." The picture of gentlemanliness, he offered his arm. "In the intervening time, might I walk you to the arena, where the festival is more crowded? The grounds are large and unsafe for an unaccompanied lady."
She took his arm with a smile, heart swelling. "I would be honored," she replied, cherishing the opportunity to walk with him.
Together, the two approached the games arena. When they arrived and it was time for them to part near the jousters' entrance to the arena, Zane bowed and kissed her hand one last time, again lingering a few moments too long.
"Thank you for a lovely afternoon, Lady Pansy."
"Thank you as well, your Highness." She curtsied. "It was a pleasure."
"The pleasure is mine." He smiled, sincerity clear in his expression. "Goodnight."
"Goodnight."
As the two parted, Pixal watched him go. As he disappeared, she smiled bittersweetly. It was unlikely that she would ever meet him again, that she knew, but that could hardly sour the day's beauty in her mind. This day would be a memory she would always treasure, even when she slept and dreamt at night.
After watching him leave, Pixal turned and trekked back to where she had hidden her spell tome and herbs. She found them just the same as she left them that morning, so she prepared her herbs for her travel home. When she had done so, she uttered the phrase which had brought her.
"Suscipe me in domum suam*" she chanted, and the herbs smoked in their rich colors. She entered the column of smoke and stepped out in the back garden of the Borg estate among the roses and flowers, where no one ever traveled.
After a quick look around the estate, Pixal breathed easily, knowing she was safe. Just as she had intended, she arrived home before her stepmother and sisters. She likely had enough time to change and hide her things, and perhaps even begin to do the cleaning she had ignored that day.
Without delay, Pixal took off her lovely dress in her basement room, hiding it with all its trappings in the loose wallboard. In addition, she stowed there a beautiful overskirt and several small books, which she had conceded to purchasing before she had left the festival, some of the books even being gifts from Prince Zane that brought heat to her cheeks. Before she closed up the wall, she stroked their clean, leatherbound covers, and smiled.
Once she had hidden her finery and gifts, Pixal set about quickly cleaning and cooking the things she would normally do in the evenings, such that it would seem she never left the estate, and all the while her clip did the most time-consuming work. While unable to do all she would usually, a fine amount was completed, and after an hour or two, Pixal heard the telltale sound of a carriage come to a stop outside the estate.
Not more than two minutes after their arrival, Amaryllis, Begonia, and Columbine came into the estate, laden with boxes and bags of trinkets and clothing and already groaning and complaining about the things they did not get.
"My feet are sore!" Begonia complained. "These shoes do not fit me right."
"They are too big for those heels of yours!" Columbine sniped. "My stays are too tight..."
"It is your fault for being so large at the waist! You'll never find a noble husband!" Begonia snapped.
"Girls, enough," Amaryllis said. "Be ladylike."
"We need not be ladylike at home!"
"Even if we were, it will not attract the prince."
"I am sure he was preoccupied today," their mother said, looking displeased. "You will catch his attention tomorrow." She turned to the stairs and raised her chin impetuously. "Pixal!"
Pixal came into the entranceway in a hurry, attempting to look busy. "Stepmother! Columbine, Begonia," she greeted. "How was the festival?"
"It was magnificent, but the prince was not there!" Begonia whined.
"You were simply too blind to see him," Columbine said, and Begonia put her hand to her chest in insult.
Amaryllis sighed heavily, looking as if she had aged several years in a single day. "Pixal, draw me a bath and put away our purchases. I must rest for tomorrow's festival day."
"Of course, stepmother." Without complaint, Pixal did as she was told as quickly as she could, so she might retire to privacy in her bedroom.
That evening when she laid down and went to bed, she was sure that no one was the wiser of her activities. Before resting, she took one last look inside the loose wallboard and smiled upon its contents, memorizing the appearance of her new belongings, though she would so rarely wear them. Then she fell asleep, and did so with a smile adorning her lips, reliving her memories of her afternoon with the prince.
It was so unlikely that Pixal would ever meet the prince again, much less the second day of the festival, if she could even manage to sneak away and attend. An attachment to him was unwise, but she found herself smiling as she remembered how he had held her close and spun her widely, the dance floor feeling more like a stage than a pastime. She remembered the whirling, the feeling of man-made wind on her face, and the sound of the prince's quiet laugh– it sent her quietly squealing into her pillow.
That night, she dreamt of books, of book-loving princes, and of dancing, and woke the next morning feeling lighter than ever before, hoping despite hope that such a day could come again, despite her situation as the maid for her unloving family and continuously absent father. The second festival day could be as good, she hoped. As for the memories she had…
...handsome Prince Zane would live on in her mind's eye, smiling upon "Lady Pansy" with the gentlest of gazes.
Latin for "Take me home."
This chapter is longer than some of my oneshots, and I am very proud of that fact. So is the next chapter (and hopefully the one after that)!
I must thank everyone for their lovely reviews, because my email has been getting very full recently with review notifications, and it is a welcome surprise. I read and adore every single one, and they absolutely make my day.
I hope that Pixal and Zane's meeting was as good as you all hoped; it's only getting better from here! Side note: King Dr. Julien sounds like a mouthful. His full name is King Dominic Julien of the Central Commonwealth, and he is a gracious ruler that all will respect. (That's an order!)